It takes two to three business days to get a paternity test back, but when you’re Tuck Avery, it’s only twenty-four hours. Two days after I saw him in his penthouse, his lawyer, Mr. Shapiro, called to schedule a lab visit for me. I went with Brogan and Cece, gave blood, and left. Mr. Shapiro attended. As I left the office, Tuck walked in. He wore no coat and wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“Have some peppermint tea,” Mr. Darden says as he sets a cup and saucer on his desk.
I blink, looking up. I’m still using his laptop. I ordered a new one, but it has been delayed and hasn’t arrived. I’m glad. I don’t want to be alone in my apartment.
“All right,” I murmur.
All right. I’ve been saying it to everyone. When the baby bed arrived and Cece and Brogan put it together. When Widow Carnes saw me crying in the elevator. When Herman opened the door for me to take a walk.
The world is full of fog, and I have to squint to think straight.
“He knows he’s the father.” I glance out the window. “He’s somewhere running scenarios through his head. He’s rethinking the Brogan aspect, if he was part of a scheme. He’s wondering if I tampered with the condoms. He’s wondering if I’ve been stalking him for years, looking for an opportunity. He distrusts every single word I ever said to him, trying to see where he messed up—”
“Stop. What he thinks, you can’t change. What he does, you can’t undo. You made a choice to keep your baby, Miss Lane. He’s grappling with it.”
My voice wavers. “He’s also scared. He never wanted kids because he had horrible parents. They blamed him for things he couldn’t even control.” I swallow thickly. “He fears he’ll be his father. He fears he’ll withhold love like his mother. He fears chaos and uncertainty because that’s how he grew up. I upended his life with my pregnancy. He’s wondering how to fix it.” I bite my lip to hold in the tears.
He hobbles over to his seat. “I’m sorry, dear, but you need to buck up. You’re made of stronger stuff.”
“Am I?”
There’s a knock at the door, and I rush up to get it before he gets his cane.
“If that’s Widow Carnes, tell her The Notebook is the worst bit of drivel I’ve read.”
“Blasphemy, but for you, I’ll do it.”
I stop at the mirror in the foyer. My hair is up, oily from lack of a shower this morning; my face is pale; and gray smudges are under my eyes. Whatever.
I open the door and stiffen. “Mr. Shapiro, what do you want?”
He inclines his head. Dressed in a dark suit, he has a slick air about him. “I knocked on your door, and your roommate said you were here. May I come in?”
My breath quickens. Do I want to hear what’s going to come out of his mouth?
“All right.”
He takes a seat in the den, and Mr. Darden comes in and points his cane at him. “I have a law degree I never used, so no funny business, young man.”
“Of course.”
Darden sits next to me on the couch.
Shapiro smiles. “First, Mr. Avery would like to not make this a public issue. No media. No interviews with magazines, television shows, etc. There’s an NDA here”—he slides a piece of paper onto the coffee table—“to keep your relationship, the events of it, your knowledge of his personal life from public purview.”
“Of course.” I sign it without reading, and Darden grunts his displeasure.
“What else?” I ask.
He opens a leather bag and pulls out more papers. My throat prickles with unease.
“We can go to court, of course, to arrange your settlement, or we can agree here and keep it quiet. It’s a generous offer. We spent time calculating the cost of a child, medical care for both of you, a nanny, private school, university—”
“I don’t want anything from him.”
Mr. Darden grunts again, and I send him a look.
Shapiro smiles. He’s good at it. “Miss Lane, you might change your mind once the child is born, and Mr. Avery wishes to stay out of court. If we settle this now, things will go back to normal.”
I laugh. “Normal?”
“You can get on with your life knowing your child will be well taken care of financially, and Mr. Avery can continue his, knowing you’re both doing well.”
I glance at the papers as if they’re alive and evil. “Is he requesting any custody rights?”
“No.”
I feel winded. Swallowing thickly, I find my voice. “Why isn’t he here?”
He pauses. “Ah, he chose not to be.”
“He needs to be here.” My chest squeezes. I want to see him. I can explain. I can tell him how I was afraid, that I didn’t want this to happen.
“You must leave,” I say.
“Don’t be foolish, Miss Lane,” Mr. Darden murmurs. “Let’s hear him out.”
“No. Tell Tuck I’m not interested in his money. You have your NDA. He can go fuck himself.”
I walk to the foyer and open the door and cling to it, hands white with the effort.
He’s not here.
He doesn’t want rights.
He’ll never see her.
That, that is nearly unbearable.
The walks we took.
The harmony.
He doesn’t want it.
Or me.
Or her.
A tear falls.
And another.
And another.
Rejection claws at me.
Cruel.
Harsh.
Distrustful.
If he’s my fate, then I don’t want him.
Shapiro heaves out an exhale as he stands and straightens his jacket. “Miss Lane, I have two daughters. It’s expensive. Perhaps, now, because of your feelings, you’re angry and not thinking clearly.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“You’ll need financial security. It’s important to him that you’re happy with the settlement. Today he’s offering you five million a year. In court, it might be different. Take this, and become a wealthy woman.”
My jaw grinds. “Tell Tuck that I don’t want one cent from him. Goodbye.”
He leaves, and I slam the door. My hands fist and I yell, “Motherfucker!”
“Francesca,” Mr. Darden says, then takes my shoulder. “My dear . . .”
I turn to him, and he wraps his arms around me. “My eyes are leaking again,” I whisper.
He gives me his handkerchief.
A few moments later his phone rings, and I ease away so he can answer it.
When he disappears to the study, I dash out, hit the elevator button, and punch in the code for the penthouse. He didn’t change it at least, I think. I could have tried to see him earlier, but the distance between us felt too big, insurmountable. He said he needed space.
But now . . .
I bang on the door, and it flies open.
Jasper is there; he sees me and blinks.
I push past him. “Where is he?”
He follows me, grabbing a shirt off the back of the chair and slipping it on.
“Are you okay? You’re—”
“I’m fine! Where’s Tuck?”
I walk downstairs, into the library, into his bedroom. The bed is made, the bathroom clean.
“He hasn’t been here since you left. You’re pregnant,” he murmurs with a wondering expression on his face as he looks at my stomach. “I mean, now that I know, I see it. Are you doing all right? Taking your vitamins? Eating good? I have sisters.”
I hug him fiercely, and he grunts and wraps his arms around me. “He sent his lawyers, Jasper. He doesn’t want to see her.”
He pets my hair. “Darling, I don’t know what to tell you. He’s crazy about you.”
I sniff. “But where is he? Is it the loft? A hotel?”
He steps back, a look of unhappiness on his face.
“Tell me!”
“He’s at the marina, where the yacht is. He’s getting it ready to take out.”
A gust of air comes from me. “He’s leaving.”
Jasper winces. “Yeah. He saw his mother, and whatever happened, it was bad. I think he wants to leave it all behind.” He stops. “Not you, though. You know he cares about you.”
But maybe he was always looking for a reason to end us?
“It’s really over for him.”
He reaches for me, but I step back. I look at the Pollock, and anger boils. I wish I could set fire to it and destroy everything that hurts Tuck.
But this is his choice.
Just like I had a choice.
I chose her and me.
He chose himself.
